


We're Like the A-Team

by seekingtomorrow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack Pairing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingtomorrow/pseuds/seekingtomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bran has always been one of the more well-behaved Stark children, but when he gets tangled up with a vigilante gang led by the dangerous Reed siblings, he finds himself in a world of trouble.  Maybe he should’ve joined student council with that crazy lizard-obsessed president.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only Bran is Sane

**Author's Note:**

> Think Scooby-Doo, but with more Margaery-Quentyn sass. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you?”

Bran Stark looked up from the map of the school grounds and into the concerned blue eyes of his sister. “Don’t worry Sansa. I’ll be fine.”

“Sansa,” Arya Stark, Bran’s other sister, said. “We don’t need you to come with us. We know how to get around. In case you’ve forgotten, we go to this school too.”

Sansa frowned. “Fine,” she conceded. “I have to go to choir now, but I’ll see you guys later.” With that, she hurried off in the opposite direction.

“So,” Arya said, “where do you want to go first?”

“You don’t have to stay,” Bran insisted. “It’s not like I can’t find a club to join by myself.”

“Alright then,” Arya grinned. “I’ll see you around?”

“Bye,” Bran absentmindedly waved.

It was club’s day. In the spacious, sun roofed atrium of King’s Landing secondary, students had set up tables and displays in the hopes of enticing some poor freshmen to join their ranks. Bran sighed as he watched the cheerleading club perform some complicated routine and frowned when he saw the drama club re-enact a heavily edited scene from Hamlet. Bran had read the play last year on a whim and he did not recall Hamlet and Horatio being lovers. Or that Fortinbras had invaded Denmark because he was also in love with Hamlet.

New students were heavily encouraged to join either clubs or sports teams for the sake of contributing to the school community. Before they’d graduated, Theon had been on the water polo team, Robb had been chair of the “Young Leaders of Today” group, and Jon was either part of the tech crew for the drama club or he was in the drama club. Jon never really talked about his time in high school. Sansa, with her beautiful singing voice and love of school spirit, was a soloist in the choir. Arya was on the fencing team, but their parents thought she was on the debate team.

Bran was torn. He knew that as one of the younger kids, he had big footsteps to fill. He wasn’t athletic enough to join a sports team and anything involving singing was out of the question. Therefore, the only option left was to join a club and hope that his parents were too horrified with Arya’s fencing to notice.

Stopping by one of the more ornately decorated tables, he peered at their posters and pretended to be interested in what they were trying to offer.

“Would you be interested in joining student council?” A beautiful girl with white-blond hair and violet eyes asked Bran. She had a soft smile on her face as she held out some pamphlets. Each pamphlet had glossy photos of attractive students smiling and holding up assorted school supplies. One of the students in the photo was carrying a ruler over his head and grinning like he planned to murder everyone and then hide the bodies.

Bran involuntarily took a step back, shaking his head. “I’m only a freshman.”

The girl’s smile only widened and her eyes seemed to sparkle. “That’s alright. Even the freshmen need a voice.”

Bran was about to reach for a pamphlet, when a hand knocked his away.

“No bothering the president!” A gruff voice said. Looking up, Bran stared into the terrifying face of a boy—no, a man whose expression was enough to make him want to cry for help.

“Jorah,” the girl scolded. “Don’t scare the poor boy. I was trying to get him to join student council.”

“He won’t last through the initiation.”

The girl looked closely at Bran. “Perhaps you’re right. I’m sorry. You aren’t quite what we’re looking for. I do hope you’ll vote for your grade rep. It’s been lovely talking to you.”

“Initiation?” Bran asked.

The girl’s smile never faltered. “I doubt you’ll survive. But if you ever have any questions about anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask me. My name’s Daenerys Targaryen.”

“Nice to meet—?”

“Ms. Targaryen!” A boy came running down the walkway created by the tables. Stopping in front of theirs, he screeched to a halt and put his hands on his knees. “There’s someone being bullied!” He wheezed.

“Bullied?” Daenerys’ eyes seemed to blaze with hatred. “Drogon! Rhaegal! Viserion!” Nothing happened. “Jorah!” Daenerys hissed.

“Oh!” Jorah nodded. Reaching underneath the table, he procured a large cage in which three lizards lay. The biggest of the three—a fat black iguana—seemed to be smirking evilly at Bran while the other two—a bearded dragon and a leopard gecko—just lazed around. Opening the cage, he gingerly lifted them and placed them into Daenerys’ waiting arms.

“Now we will stop this bully or my name isn’t Daenerys Targaryen called Stormborn, the Unburnt, Mother of Lizards, Khaleesi of the Dothraki—who are a group of very pleasant people by the way; don’t believe the rumours—Trueborn President of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and President of King’s Landing Secondary School!”

Bran was absolutely terrified by Daenerys. Jorah wasn’t half as scary as this. Neither was anyone he’d ever known and he’d grown up with Theon, Robb, and Jon.

“Uhh…I think I’m going to join a book club…?” He gestured in the general direction of the exit. “Uh good luck with…saving that kid?”

“Thank you, small freshman child!” Daenerys nodded, the leopard gecko perched on her head bobbing precariously. “I wish you good luck in your endeavours as well. Now let’s find the bastard and smoke him out with fire and blood.”

Bran turned around and walked away as fast as he could without offending anyone.

* * *

 

“Are you a freshman?”

Bran started and turned to face the source of the voice. Sitting at a pitifully lonesome table in the darkest corner of the usually brightly lit atrium was a serious-looking boy. His booth was decorated with posters that looked like they were made by a colour blind toddler.

“You’re a freshman?” The boy repeated himself, brow furrowing.

“Yes,” Bran said, nodding at the same time.

“Did you sign up for any clubs?” The boy asked. In spite of his age, he carried himself with the air of someone much older.

“No, not yet.”

“Would you like to sign up for my club?”

Bran looked at the posters with slight unease. “What sort of club?”

The boy followed Bran’s gaze and sighed. “The posters aren’t very artistic, are they? I am rather regretful that I allowed my sister to make them.” Ignoring Bran’s apologetic sputters, he continued, “We’re the tech crew for the drama club. We sit in the tech booth and control the lights and such.”

Bran shrugged. Out of the all the clubs he’d seen today, this one seemed to be the most normal. And he wouldn’t have to worry about lame spirit days either. “Where do I sign up?”

The boy handed him a frighteningly thick stack of papers. “These are the application forms. If you can fill these out and return them to me tomorrow, that’ll be good.”

“Where can I find you?”

“You can go to the drama room during lunch or after school. Ask for Jojen Reed.”

“Alright then. I’ll see you around.” Bran took the forms from Jojen’s hand and began walking away.

“Goodbye Bran Stark.”

It wasn’t until much later that Bran realized he’d never introduced himself.

* * *

 

Do you believe in justice?

Bran’s pen was poised in mid-air. The questions on the stack of forms Jojen had handed to him earlier were really strange. Shrugging, he ticked off the yes box and proceeded to the next question.

If you witnessed a mugging, would you go out of your way to help the victim?

Yes.

Do you think evil should go unpunished?

No.

Do you have any prior training in hand-to-hand combat?

Ye—wait, what? Okay, no.

Have you ever operated stage lighting?

Now that question seemed a little more appropriate for a tech club.

Please provide your signature on the bottom line and return these forms to either a) Meera or b) Jojen Reed within 24 hours or your application will be declared void. Do not show this to anyone.

Bran rubbed the space between his brows, not quite understanding anything. Not for the first time, he silently wondered if there was anyone sane in his school. At least he had his family.

“RICKON! MOMMY TOLD YOU NEVER TO PLAY WITH FIRE!”

Okay, so maybe he was the only sane one.


	2. Welcome to Tech Club!

“Hi, I’m looking for Jojen Reed. Do you know where he might be?”

The short girl—who was actually quite attractive, noted Bran—perked up at the mention of Jojen. “You can give those papers to me!”

Bran hesitated. “Jojen said I should give them to him.” He made sure not to make direct eye contact with the girl, choosing to gaze at the poster covered walls. Looking closer, he realized that each poster advertised a different production that the drama club had put on before.

The girl dismissed Bran’s concerns with a wave of her hand. “It’ll be fine. I’m Meera, by the way. Jojen’s older sister.”

Bran shook himself out of his reverie and was about to hand over the forms, but stopped himself. “No, that’s okay. I’ll just find Jojen and give these to him myself. No use in troubling you.”

Meera smiled widely. “You’ve passed.”

“What?” Bran asked, confused. “What did I pass?”

“The test!”

“I’m not following you.”

“You don’t need to be,” Meera shook her head, smiling as if Bran was some particularly entertaining cat who’d just learned to play piano. “You’re part of the club now.”

“So Jojen doesn’t need to see my application?”

“I can tell if you’re a good person,” Meera placed a hand on Bran’s shoulder. He blushed at the sudden contact. “You’re a good person and I want you to be part of our club. Come to the tech booth after school. We’ll have our first meeting there.” She walked off, leaving a very puzzled Bran behind.

“What does me being a good person have to do with being in charge of stage lights?” Bran wondered aloud. 

* * *

 

“Excuse me,” Bran said to a teacher standing outside the theater. “Is the tech booth in here?”

“It’s right up those stairs to your left. Make sure you watch where you’re going. It’s pretty dark up there.”

“Thanks.” Bran nodded. Opening a practically hidden door, he precariously made his way up a narrow staircase. The teacher was right. There was no lighting, save for a dim glow that came from the little glow in the dark stars pasted on the walls. Each step creaked slightly and Bran groped for the handrail, only to find that there was none. Finally he reached the nondescript black door with a piece of peeling duct tape that said, “TECH CREW” in block letters that Bran thought looked suspiciously similar to Jon’s writing.

“Hello?” Bran asked timidly, knocking on the door. “It’s Bran Stark. Meera told me to come by for today’s meeting?”

“Greetings, Bran.” Jojen Reed said, opening the door. “I’m glad you decided to show up.”

“Decided?” Bran took a look around the booth. It was bigger than he’d originally thought. Three other people were occupying the various, mismatched seats. One of them he recognized as Meera.

“Decided,” Jojen echoed solemnly. “We do try to take on other members, but they lose interest after they realize how many forms they have to fill out.”

“Tech crew is a huge responsibility,” Meera informed. “Hi Bran! Glad you could make it. I guess I should introduce you to the rest of the gang?”

Bran nodded absentmindedly. “That’d be nice.”

“Everyone,” Meera gestured to the rest of the group. “This is Bran. Bran, this is Margaery Tyrell.”

A very pretty girl with softly curling brown hair smiled and wiggled her fingers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The only thing more questionable than her loyalty is her sexual orientation,” grunted the other boy who was fiddling with a pocket-knife. He was stocky-looking with dark hair and dark eyes, which were trained on Bran.

“And that charming ray of sunshine is Quentyn Martell,” Margaery pointed with a manicured finger. “I wouldn’t suggest talking to him. He spends more time with his little contraptions than he does with actual people.”

“So I’m assuming you’re not counting yourself as an ‘actual person,’” Quentyn put air quotes around the word. “Then I totally agree with your assessment.” He leaned back in his chair—which happened to be the only fold out chair in the booth—and put his hands behind his head.

”And you’ve already met Jojen, so that’s everyone,” Meera clapped her hands together, successfully stopping the brewing argument. “Welcome to tech crew!”

“Tech crew?” Quentyn snorted. “That’s what you told him?”

“That’s what they tell all the newcomers,” Margaery shot back. “Genius.”

Bran’s eyes widened with horror. “What’s going on?”

Meera looked apologetic. “You see—”

“Techies? My wonderfully amazing techies?” The teacher that Bran had spoken to earlier popped his head into the room. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Renly!” Margaery stood up walking over to him, she gave Renly a hug. “I barely saw you during the summer.”

“Margaery, it’s been so long.” Renly gushed, grasping her hands. “I’m so thrilled that you’re helping me out again this year. I know that between this and cheerleading, you must be so busy.” The room seemed to brighten with Renly’s appearance. Even the mismatched chairs didn’t seem so glaringly obvious in his man’s presence.

“You’re a cheerleader?” Bran asked.

Renly turned his gaze onto him. “And you’ve recruited a freshman? Good for you folks.”

“Of course she’s a cheerleader,” Quentyn groaned. “Did you expect that she only spends time with us?”

“Quentyn Martell,” Renly shook his head. “You should be less rude. It’ll do wonders for your complexion.”

Quentyn blinked. “I’m a mechanic. The last thing I should be caring about is my complexion.”

Renly sighed dramatically. “Well it was nice to see you folks. Meera, I’ll email you the list of shows that the drama club will be putting on. I hope you’ll do a good job of training your new protégé. I’ll see you folks later!” He left and Meera shut the door firmly behind him.

“What’s Renly Baratheon doing here?”

“He’s our teacher sponsor,” Jojen explained. “You know him?”

“His brother is best friends with my dad.”

“Anyways,” Meera continued, exasperated. “We were telling Bran about…you know.”

“You know what?” Bran inquired.

“We’re not really a tech crew.” Quentyn cut Meera off.

“Quentyn,” Meera said, her voice bordering on frustrated. “Don’t interrupt me and don’t spoil it.”

“We’re like soldiers of fortune.” Margaery peered into Bran’s eyes. “Except without the fortune. And we’re not really soldiers.”

“I think vigilante’s the word you’re looking for,” Jojen added.

Meera pulled a rolling cork board out from a corner and whipped the sheet off of it, coughing at the dust. “This is what we do.”

Bran stared in shock at the board. It was like something out of a television procedural. Various pictures, linked with red thread, all leading back to a headshot of a good-looking blonde boy. From a single glance, Bran saw a map marked by coloured tacks, blurry photos taken at house parties, and what looked to be crumpled test papers amongst an assortment of other oddities.

“I think I get it.” Bran breathed. “So you stalk this guy? You’re a fanclub masquerading as a tech crew so nobody will realize the extent of your creepiness?”

Quentyn burst into laughter, falling off his chair. Margaery paused in the middle of her nail-filing. Jojen looked up from his dictionary, one brow raised. Meera’s smile faltered.

“We are what you call vigilantes.” Meera said, her smile somewhat strained but still bright. “We’re keeping tabs on this boy because he poses a threat to us.”

“Isn’t this Joffrey Baratheon?” Bran touched the edges of the headshot. “This is Renly’s nephew. Why is he the focus of this?”

“Joffrey Baratheon,” Margaery repeated. “Son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Baratheon nee Lannister. Seventeen years old and a senior. GPA of 4.0—though we suspect cheating on his part. Plays forward on the soccer team and is team captain.”

“Anyone could’ve figured out that information.” Bran pointed out. “Why are you so obsessed with him?”

“Slept with a night light until age thirteen. Speed dial is as follows: Mom, Sandor Clegane, Dad, Grandpa, Uncle Jaime, and Uncle Tyrion. Locker combination is 32, 8, 15. He prefers his sandwiches with the crusts cut off. He is currently attempting to woo Sansa Stark, whom I understand is your very attractive sister.” Margaery continued in a scarily monotone voice. “Could you convince her to join cheerleading?”

“How did you find that all out?”

“Margaery,” Jojen pointed at the girl, “is in charge of intel. She’s our inside contact. As cheerleader, she is privy to a lot of information we wouldn’t normally acquire for quite some time.”

“So what’s the big deal with Joffrey? He’s a jerk, but I still don’t understand the obsession.”

“Last year there was a spike in grade averages,” Meera began to explain. “Normally when this happens, teachers assume that everyone is finally realizing how important marks are. However, this was occurring in some of the most surprising individuals.”

“Let’s just say that Clegane brothers aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed,” Quentyn said.

“Anyways, as a member of the student council—”

“You’re on student council?” Bran asked in shock. “With that girl?”

“So I’m not the only one who hates her,” Quentyn rubbed his chin contemplatively. “Good to know.”

“Daenerys Targaryen you mean?” Margaery snorted in a rather undignified manner. “She is,” she paused for words, “odd.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Daenerys Targaryen!” Meera defended. “Just because she hung out with the Dothraki doesn’t mean she’s weird.”

“Daenerys Targaryen got banned from a fast food restaurant chain for setting a table on fire because the ice cream machines weren’t working. If that’s not insane, then I’ll take Quentyn to prom next year.”

“Hey!” Quentyn shouted, cranking the lever on his chair to make him look taller. “Don’t drag me into this.”

“Can we please continue informing Bran?” Jojen prompted his older and supposedly more mature peers. He placed the small book he’d been reading into the cup holder of the tartan armchair that definitely looked out of place in a tech booth. For some odd reason, it had wheels.

“Yes of course,” Meera nodded. “I’m the vice president of the student council. I do have a lot of duties as the vice president, but Daenerys is quite the independent spirit and prefers it if I don’t interfere. Last year I was my grade representative and because I was working closely with a lot of my classmates, I heard a lot of rumours. Apparently, someone was breaking into the school, making copies of exams—math exams in particular— and then selling them to the student body.”

“And you suspected Joffrey?” Bran filled in the blanks.

“I had no idea who to expect,” Meera confessed. “It was only because I heard he was the one selling them that I started to suspect. I thought it’d be a one-time thing, but it hasn’t stopped.”

“Haven’t the teachers noticed?”

“You would think. But Joffrey is very careful. He sells to a select few and he mixes it up to throw people off. And he makes sure that the people he sells to are being watched. He’s employed the Clegane brothers, two of the most terrifying men you’ll ever meet.”

“And that led to you forming this group?”

“Yes. When I volunteered for tech crew, I realized that if I were to create an official tech crew club, it’d be the perfect cover for what I really wanted to do: stop Joffrey. I got my brother involved and then we started recruiting others, but discreetly and usually without their knowledge.”

“So you guys,” Bran gestured to the group, “are going to dedicate your school lives and get yourself involved with potentially dangerous people for the sake of putting an end to an underground cheating ring?”

“That’s the most eloquent description of our group that I’ve ever heard,” Jojen said. “We should put that on our posters.”

“Do people even know what you’re trying to do?”

“Everyone thinks we’re a tech crew,” Quentyn said. “Which we are. But that’s just a front.”

“We’re like the A-Team.” Meera grinned widely. “I’m Hannibal because I love seeing a plan come together. Margaery’s Faceman because she’s suave and smooth-talking and can con information out of just about anyone. Quentyn’s our mechanic and in charge of any contraptions we may need to put together so he’s B.A. And Jojen’s Murdock because he’s scarily intelligent in addition to possibly being somewhat crazy.”

“I also have a fantastic memory,” Jojen added. “Once, I was able to memorize all the cats they photographed in a 365-day calendar.”

“It doesn’t count if you used cue cards, Jojen.” Quentyn sighed.

“So if you’re all members of the A-Team,” Bran said, “then who does that make me?”

“Jessica Biel.” Margaery didn’t even look up from her nails.

“We don’t talk about the movie, ever.” Meera huffed.

“You can be Bruce Wayne,” Jojen suggested.

“He’s not even part of the A-Team,” Bran pointed out.

Meera gasped. “Did you just complain about being called Bruce Wayne?”

“I don’t even like Bruce Wayne,” Quentyn shrugged.

“Quentyn,” mocked Margaery. “You just hate things that everyone else likes because you get a kick out of their anger.”

“Margaery,” Quentyn tried—and failed—to imitate her voice. “You just like pointing out the obvious because it makes you look a lot smarter than you actually are.”

“So you admit that you get off people’s anger?”

“Guys!” Meera stood in-between them. “Now is not the time to be fighting. We have to welcome Bran to our group.”

“Welcome to our group Bran,” Jojen shook his hand solemnly. “I hope you last longer than the last guy.”

“We are going to work great together,” Margaery smiled almost seductively. It gave Bran shivers.

“Don’t get in my way and we’ll get along just fine,” Quentyn warned.

“I do hope you’ll enjoy being part of the tech crew.” Meera grasped Bran’s hands. “This is going to be a fantastic year with you on board.”


	3. Thievery Part I

“Okay, that’s good. Everyone take a fifteen minute break!”

Bran exhaled noisily, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t know this stuff was so difficult.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jojen said from his right. “Once you get the hang of learning how to operate the lights, you’ll be fine.”

“Can we have a short meeting right now?” Meera asked from across the room. “Guys?” Everyone crowded closer. “Daenerys has been on my butt all week,”

“Now that’s the sort of nagging I wouldn’t mind,” Margaery said, smirking impishly.

“Even though you think she’s absolutely crazy? Quentyn questioned.

“Hey,” Margaery shrugged. “Hot and crazy are two different things. I can put up with the crazy if I can look at the hot. And that goes for both sexes.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I doubt you even know what that means, Q.”

“Don’t call me Q!”

“Margaery. Quentyn.” Meera warned. “Anyways, there’s been a string of robberies. Girls have been reporting that their cell phones, wallets, and other valuables are missing. Jojen?”

Jojen put his hand down. “Well you said that all the victims were female? Where have the robberies been taking place?”

“In the girl’s locker room. Usually during a physical education class.”

“Then obviously the culprit is a female.”

“Then that’s what? Fifty percent of the school population?” Quentyn asked. “That’s not very helpful.”

“And there’s a good chance of her being enrolled in a fitness class. That way, she can see who puts what item in which locker and may even be able to take a look at the combinations.”

“That’s still a huge list of suspects,” Meera said worriedly.

“What about the ages of the victims?” Bran piped up. “If she’s targeting one class, it can’t be too difficult to find some correlation between ages.”

“Good thinking,” Meera nodded. “Margaery will look into that.”

Margaery’s expression turned serious and she leaned forward. “I can see where you’re all going with this, but you’re grabbing at straws here. You’re basing guesses on things that aren’t necessarily true. What if the culprit just knows when the classes are, but isn’t in them? Fitness class schedules aren’t exactly a huge secret.”

“Wow,” Quentyn looked impressed. “So you can be smart when you want to be.”

“Shut up Quentyn,” Margaery swatted at him. “Anyways, I think we should approach this from another angle. My angle.”

“I see the sense in this,” Jojen agreed. “Someone must have already pieced this together and if we go off some established evidence, it might be easier. However I still stick to my hypothesis of it being someone in the class.”

“I thought you guys were targeting Joffrey?” Bran asked.

“He’s our main objective,” Meera said. “But if there are other issues, we deal with them too.”

A ping interrupted Meera. Margaery was texting.

“Margaery, we’re having a meeting right now.” Meera scolded.

“I know,” she grumbled. “I’m gathering intel. Aaanndd I’ve got some.”

“That was quick,” Quentyn whispered to Bran. Bran nodded in amazement.

“So our list of suspects has been whittled down to a few people. And weirdly enough, they’re not in the same grade.”

“List of suspects?” Bran asked.

“Yeah,” Margaery nodded. “I’m just asking around and seeing what people think.”

“Is that really reputable?” Bran pressed.

“I suppose not,” Margaery admitted. “But if people are being suspected in large numbers, it must mean something, right?”

“She’s right,” Jojen agreed. “So who’re the suspects?”

Margaery glared at the screen of her phone. “Brienne Tarth. She’s a senior and she works as a volunteer for one of the fitness teachers.”

“Makes sense,” Meera stroked her chin.

“Daenerys Targaryen. You all know her as the President of the Student Council.”

“Daenerys?” Meera gasped.

“Lizard girl?” Bran guessed.

“I’m not surprised,” Quentyn scoffed.

“Shut up Quentyn,” Margaery said without tearing her eyes away from the screen. “Apparently she’s still really low on funds for the grad trip and she’s been exhibiting some suspicious behaviour.”

“That sounds plausible,” Jojen said. “I don’t like it, but it’s plausible.”

“The other is Theon Greyjoy. That’s total nonsense. Theon graduated two years ago.”

“Probably a false rumour,” Bran put forth. “I can see Theon sneaking into the girls’ locker room, but not when it’s empty.”

“And the last,” Margaery grimaced, “Bran, you’re not going to like this, but our last suspect is Arya Stark.”

“My sister?” Bran raised his eyebrows in shock. “Why?”

“People have been seeing her going in and out of the locker rooms in the past few weeks. And then the people targeted are in her class.”

“I thought it was a junior class being targeted. My sister’s a sophomore.”

“Arya Stark,” Jojen said, “is in a junior fitness class. She’s surpassed the skill level of her peers. Hardly surprising, really.”

“I don’t get it. Why would my sister be a suspect?” Bran asked. “She wouldn’t steal.”

“I’m not saying she’s the thief,” Margaery said. “I’m just reporting on what other people said.”

“Well then,” Meera mused. “I suppose we’ll have to start keeping tabs on our suspects. Bran, you will obviously be questioning Arya. Do try to keep it subtle. I’ll keep an eye on Daenerys. Jojen, is Brienne refereeing the next soccer games?”

Jojen swiveled his chair to face his laptop. After clicking his way through several pages, he nodded. “Yes she is.”

“Okay, then Margaery is going to monitor her. Any questions? Bran?”

“How did you even know Brienne is refereeing that game? It’s not on the school website.”

Jojen wiggled his fingers. “I’m good with computers. And the school security is lackluster at best.”

“What about me?” Quentyn asked.

“Quentyn, you’ll be on standby. Once we figure out who the culprit is, we’ll commission you to set a trap. But for now, just try and think of something.”

“Wait!” Margaery held a hand up.

“Did her Majesty not understand something?” Quentyn mocked.

“The only thing I don’t understand is why you think overalls are the appropriate attire for social gatherings.” Margaery shot back.

“Margaery, Quentyn.” Meera slammed a hand on the table. “What did you want to say, Margaery?”

“I’m not done. There’s still one more suspect.”

“Who?”

“Her name is Jeyne Poole. She’s a friend of Sansa Stark and is on an academic scholarship here.”

“I know who she is!” Bran near shouted. “But she doesn’t seem like the type to steal. She hardly has a malicious bone in her body.”

“Apparently someone actually saw her stealing money from another girl’s wallet in the locker room. They even took a picture,” Margaery turned her phone sideways and squinted, “but it isn’t very clear.”

“What’s her motive?” Meera inquired.

Margaery shrugged hopelessly. “Nobody knows.”

“I think I may be able to take a guess at this,” Jojen interrupted. Everyone turned to face him. “If this Ms. Poole is on an academic scholarship, we can assume that the tuition for this school may be somewhat out of her family’s financial range. Going off of that, perhaps Jeyne is not doing as well academically as she originally hoped?”

“Academic probation,” Meera breathed. “Jojen, are you on office aide duty anytime this week?”

“I am tomorrow.”

“See if you can find out whether Jeyne Poole is actually still receiving money. If not, she may be our culprit.”

“What about my sister, Daenerys, and Brienne?”

“We still have to keep an eye on them. Monitor your person over the weekend and report back to me next Monday.”

“Break over! Everyone, let’s get back to rehearsal. Tech crew, that means you too!”

Bran sighed. Arya didn’t take too kindly to people intruding on her privacy. This was going to be a long weekend.

* * *

 

“Arya?” Bran timidly knocked on the frame of his sister’s door.

“Come in,” she called over the blaring music. “What’s up?” Arya asked Bran curiously, twirling a pen between her fingers.

“Nothing much,” Bran shrugged. He wasn’t quite sure how to bring up the robberies without blatantly accusing Arya.

“You enjoying school?”

“I guess,” Bran’s voice trailed off slightly. “Except,” he cleared his throat, “well I guess I’m enjoying it.”

Arya’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Except what?”

“Nothing!” Bran said nervously. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing is nothing. What’s going on?” Arya demanded. “Are you getting bullied?”

“What?” Bran gaped. “No! I’m just not used to the layout of high school and everything!” He lied frantically.

Arya didn’t seem to believe him. “There’s something wrong.”

Bran’s thoughts raced as he tried to think of a way to change the subject. Then, he had an idea. “I’m just worried,” he sighed.

“About what?”

“I’ve heard some rumours about people getting their stuff stolen and I’m worried it’ll happen to me or to my friends.” Bran made sure to stare at his feet, hoping that Arya’s protective instincts would kick in.

“People are getting their stuff stolen?”

Bran looked up. “You haven’t heard the rumours?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Well,” Bran shuffled his feet. “What do you think of them?”

“Of the thief?”

“Yeah.”

“Thieves are lazy cowards with no sense of honour. They deserve whatever’s coming at them.”

Bran had gotten his answer. Arya was definitely not the thief; she was too proud and valued honour. Also, she wasn’t exactly subtle. If she was the thief, someone else in their family, probably Jon would have picked up on it and intervened.

“So is that all you’re worried about?” Arya asked, her brow slightly furrowed. “Because if that’s it, then you honestly have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah,” Bran affirmed, “that’s it.”

Arya nodded and turned back to face her desk, indicating that their conversation was over and Bran should probably leave before she asked him to. 

* * *

 

“So did everyone do their assignment this weekend?”

Bran nodded, as did Margaery and Jojen.

“And what did you manage to conclude? Bran, you go first.”

Bran stood up and took out the cue cards he had prepared. Quentyn scoffed. Margaery rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow.

“My sister is definitely not the thief. She didn’t even know about the robberies going on.”

“She might be lying,” Quentyn pointed out.

“She might,” Bran agreed, “but if I know my sister, I know that she’s an awful liar, she values honour very highly and she’s a terrible liar.”

“Bran is right,” Margaery said. “Arya Stark is not the thief. She has no motive for stealing and many of the items stolen—cell phones, jewelry, makeup—are not the sort of items she would be interested in stealing.”

“I have evidence of Arya not being the thief as well,” Jojen added. “The reason why she’s been sighted going in and out of the locker room is because of an upcoming fencing tournament. There’ve been extra practices after school.”

“And,” Margaery put a finger up, eyes staring at the screen of her phone, “on the days of the reported thefts, Arya was in class the whole time.”

“Then we can conclude that Arya is not the thief. Margaery, what about Brienne?”

“Not the thief either,” Margaery shook her head. “There was another theft just before the weekend and Brienne was assisting with the soccer coach the whole time.”

“I highly doubt Brienne would jeopardize the glowing recommendations that the teachers have given her in order to pursue theft,” Jojen said.

“Well Daenerys isn’t the thief either,” Meera frowned. “When I brought up the topic of stealing, she flew into a rage and was about to hunt down the thief herself and sic her iguana on them. Also, there’s no way she would risk getting kicked out of student council. If she was the thief, that would mean a huge black mark on her permanent record.”

“As much as I don’t like Queen of the Lizards, I have to agree.” Quentyn said. “She’s not the type to steal.”

“Jojen?”

“I think I’ve found our thief. It is indeed Jeyne Poole.”

“How’d you find that out?” Margaery said excitedly. “What sort of sources do you have? Can you hook me up with them?”

“Classic Margaery,” Quentyn snorted. “Always thinking about networking and making connections.”

“Well unlike some people, I have ambitions,” Margaery retorted.

“Ambitions of finding a rich husband maybe.”

Margaery huffed and swiveled her chair so she was no longer facing Quentyn. “At least finding someone to date me won’t require my public humiliation.”

Quentyn’s face turned bright red. “At least I’m not a slut.”

Margaery stood up, her chair crashing to the ground. “Excuse me,” she said in a clipped voice. She then walked out the door, slamming it shut for emphasis. Bran could hear her angry footsteps.

“Quentyn,” Meera admonished. “I know you and Margaery don’t always get along but for the most part, you two are friends and—”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Quentyn murmured. “I need to go apologize to her.” Abruptly, he clamoured out of his seat and ran for the exit. Running down the tiny stairwell, he didn’t even bother to shut the door behind him.

“Are they always like this?” A mystified Bran asked a stone-faced Meera.

“Usually,” Meera replied. “They’ve never been particularly close, especially after the incident two years ago. I’m sure they could get along wonderfully if they bothered trying.”

“They enjoy fighting,” added Jojen. “You would think they’re enemies, but in reality, they like each other far more than they let on.”

“Incident two years ago? What happened during Quentyn and Margaery’s freshmen year?”

“Anyways, you’ve figured out that Jeyne Poole is our thief?” Meera changed the topic seamlessly.

“Yes,” Jojen nodded. “Her transcript shows that she is no longer on scholarship and she has been late with tuition fees. Also, Margaery sent me the pictures she received from one of her contacts, and I have deduced that it is Jeyne.”

“We’ve found our thief,” Meera said. “Now all we need to do is set a trap.”

“Isn’t Quentyn responsible for that?”

“That he is.”

“He’s not here right now.”

“He’ll be here tomorrow. They both will. And they probably will be acting like none of this happened and will have gone back to acting like they’re children again,” said Meera.

“Do they…like each other?”

Meera and Jojen looked at each other before bursting out into laughter. Or in Jojen’s case, creepy wide-eyed snickers.

“If they went out, I wonder who’d snap and murder the other first.” Meera wiped tears of mirth from her eyes.

“Possibly Margaery,” Jojen muttered. “Quentyn is more passive aggressive. Although I must admit that an alliance between the two of them could be rather frightening.”

“Oh Bran,” Meera said fondly, shaking her head. “You have a lot to learn about your new teammates.”

“I suppose I do.”

“Well, since we only have half of our members, I guess we should call it a day? I’ll see you guys tomorrow. If either of you see Quentyn or Margaery, please remind them we have a meeting tomorrow after school. And if you see them together, do not approach them. They tend to be quite vocal about…everything and it is probably best that you let them yell things out for a bit.”


	4. Thievery Part II

"Is everyone in position?" Meera's voice crackled over the staticky walkie-talkies.

"Affirmative," Jojen replied immediately.

"Yes," Quentyn whispered. "Margaery just texted. They're going into the locker rooms right now and she's getting ready to set up the trap."

"Bran?" Meera asked. "What about you?"

"Yeah I'm in position," Bran said unsurely. "But why do Quentyn and I have to be in the only girls washroom in the locker room?"

Meera sighed. At least it sounded like a sigh. "Because there's only one washroom in the changing rooms and when our target is tagged, we can't have her using that one. We need her to come into the hallway. Also, you and Quentyn need to access the target's locker which is in the hall outside the changing rooms. We can't have the target noticing the two of you otherwise she may become suspicious."

"Then why does Jojen get to be off the hook?"

"I need to have access to the computer," Jojen said. "There are cameras in the hall outside the locker room and the footage may be of importance."

"That makes sense and all," Bran said, "but we could have done all that from the boy's locker room."

Quentyn snorted with poorly-concealed laughter.

"It just makes things easier!" Meera said exasperatedly.

"Margaery texted," Jojen said. "They're in the locker rooms now."

"Good," Meera said. "And now we play the waiting game."

* * *

Margaery held up her phone at eye-level. Staring at the screen, she let out a slight sigh. Jojen had just texted, letting her know that it was time to implement their plan.

"Is something the matter?" Sansa asked, putting her gym shirt on the wood bench in front of them. "You look distracted."

Margaery smiled. "I'm fine," she said. "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Okay." Sansa nodded. "If you need to talk, just let me know."

"Thanks." Margaery looked around the large locker room, taking in the grey tiled floors and dented blue lockers, she realized that what her… _friends_ intended to do what basically stealing and intruding on someone's private property. As she waited for most of the girls to leave, she tried to rid herself of the thought.

"Margaery?" Jeyne Poole asked. "Did you hear me?"

"Hm?"

"I said that Sansa and I are ready to go. Are you coming?"

Margaery put on a slightly simpering face, readying herself for an undoubtedly convincing performance. "You guys go on without me." She raised her voice, hoping that it would carry and that the other girls would start listening in. "I forgot to bring a lock today."

Sansa stood up and immediately opened her own locker. She frowned. "I don't think I have any space in mine because I promised to share with Jeyne today. Sorry Margaery. What about you, Arya?" Sansa addressed her younger sister who was standing in the corner of the room, shirt still over her head.

Arya pulled her shirt on, the static causing strands of her hair to fly everywhere. "I had to bring my fencing uniform. My locker's jam packed."

"It's alright," Margaery said, "I'll just have to go without a lock for today."

"Are you sure?" Sansa asked.

"I'll be fine. It's just one day. You guys go on without me. I'll be there in a second." At her request, Sansa and Jeyne filed out, leaving Margaery and Arya the only two people left.

"I heard Bran's in tech club with you now," Arya said.

"He is."

"Is he enjoying himself?"

"I think so."

"Good." Arya stuffed her drawn-on canvas backpack into her locker, grunting in the process. Margaery moved to help, but Arya waved her away.

"If you ever make things hell for him, I'll make things hell for you," Arya said gravely. "Sansa too. She may not look like it, but she would."

"I know."

"Glad you understand. How come you aren't changed yet?"

Margaery's head thudded. She wasn't exactly prepared for this. "I didn't want to change in front of the other girls."

"Why?" Arya asked, never one for unanswered questions.

"The painters are in."

Arya slammed the locker door abruptly. "Alright then. I'll leave you to your business." Snapping her glow-in-the-dark lock on, she tugged on her sloppily laced shoes and left the room.

Margaery was finally alone. Checking the showers to make sure that nobody had stayed, she quickly texted the rest of the group to let them know.

 _Do you have my trap?_ Quentyn texted. His name on her phone was entered in as Metal Head. She had never gotten around to changing it. _Do you even know how to set it up or should I come there and show you?_

 _I KNOW HOW._ Margaery texted back. She reached into her backpack and pulled out the ridiculous gadget that Quentyn had probably put together last night. He was such a procrastinator.

She stripped down and yanked on the unflattering gym strip consisting of a grey shirt and black shorts. Her regular clothing and backpack were placed in one of the top lockers located near Sansa's. Then, she quickly set up the trap in her locker, not bothering to figure out how it worked. All she knew was that if the thief opened her locker, she would get a fistful of glitter in the face. Margaery had suggested that part herself, knowing from personal experience that glitter was extremely difficult to get off.

 _The trap has been set._ She texted the group.

Smiling a self-satisfied grin, Margaery gave herself a once-over in the large mirror facing the showers. Concluding that her hair was looking rather perfect today, she gave it a flip and calmly sauntered out.

* * *

"Are you excited?"

"Excited for what?" Bran asked, eyes not leaving his phone screen. "There's not much to be excited about."

Quentyn scoffed. "There's plenty to be excited about."

 _The trap has been set._ Quentyn read the text. Straining his ears, he could hear the sound of footsteps exiting the locker room.

"Is everyone gone?" Bran asked.

Quentyn nodded.

"So all we have to do is wait?"

Quentyn nodded again, stretching his legs and admiring the lack of graffiti in the girl's washroom.

"How come you and Margaery argue so much? I thought that if you were part of a club, you would at least try to get along."

Quentyn sighed. "Margaery and I have a complicated history."

Bran checked the display on his phone. No reply from Margaery, Meera, or Jojen. "We have time. That is, if you feel comfortable telling me."

"Always the polite one, aren't you?" Quentyn asked, not really expecting an answer from Bran who nodded anyways. "In freshmen year, I had the biggest crush on Daenerys Targaryen."

Bran stared, not quite comprehending. "Well I suppose she is quite beautiful."

"She is. I can't really remember why I liked her, only that I did."

"What happened?"

"I was friends with another freshman in my homeroom class. I'd actually met her on the first day and we'd hit it off immediately. Her name was Margaery Tyrell."

"You and Margaery were friends at one point?" Bran could feel a headache coming on. He didn't remember unnecessary stress being part of joining tech crew.

Quentyn shifted in his spot, using his hands to pull himself up higher. His fingers left smudges on the white linoleum wall. "Margaery suggested that I confess. She said I would have nothing to lose and that the worse Daenerys would do was to say no."

"Did you want her to say yes?" Bran asked reasonably. He checked his phone again. No messages.

Quentyn shrugged. "Even if she did, I was thirteen and not ready for a relationship anyways."

"So you confessed."

"I confessed publicly and got humiliated. Daenerys was trying to be nice about it, but her guard or whatever he is—I'm sure you've met Jorah Mormont—completely humiliated me and turned me into even more of a pariah."

"And what about Margaery?"

"Margaery never, ever, ever let me forget."

"She _bullied_ you?" Although she was sassy, Bran couldn't imagine doe-eyed Margaery being truly malicious.

"I found lizards in my locker—I'm not fond of lizards at all—and people took every chance to mock me. I got my homework stolen on occasion. Margaery took the liberty of instigating a lot of the teasing."

"And then what happened?" Bran asked. He still had difficulty picturing Margaery as someone who would let this slide.

"I'm not sure." Quentyn said a little distantly. "I guess she grew up? Who knows. All I know is that one day, it all stopped."

"And you and Margaery?"

"Only started talking to her on a semi-civil level last year. She's not that bad once you get past the attitude and the backtalk."

"I don't think I'd ever be able to forgive someone who'd bullied me like that."

Quentyn smiled and ruffled Bran's hair in a way that was a little reminiscent of Jon. "One of us had to be the bigger person."

Bran's phone hummed. _The trap has been set_ , read the text from Margaery. Quentyn peered over his shoulder to read it.

"One more thing," Quentyn said. "Don't treat Margaery any differently. I'm sure she regrets what she did."

Bran nodded. "You know, for someone who's grumpy every time I see him, you're a really good person."

At this point, Quentyn smirked and Bran could tell their moment of camaraderie was over. "I know."

* * *

Margaery watched her gym class with slight disinterest. It wasn't that she hated gym or anything; she was the kind of person who worked out excessively. She was, after all, a cheerleader. She was just on a mission today. She couldn't afford any distractions.

"Margaery!" Sansa called.

Margaery turned, only for the volleyball to smack her on the head. "Ow," she grumbled to herself, sinking to the freshly waxed hardwood floors. Her head buzzed as she stared at the intersecting red and blue lines of the court in order to try and focus her muddled mind.

"Are you okay?" Sansa asked, reaching to grab her by the elbow. "Do you need to go to the nurse's office?"

"I'm fine." Margaery waved away Sansa's hand.

"Sorry!" Arya yelled over from her side of the net. "But you weren't paying attention!"

"Arya!" Sansa scolded.

"It's fine, it was an accident," Margaery reassured her slightly frantic friend. An idea sprang into her head. "Jeyne, can you go to the office and grab an ice pack for me?"

Jeyne Poole nodded eagerly. "Definitely. Margaery, I'll be back in a jiffy!"

Maragery inwardly smiled, rubbing a patch of her forehead that would probably bruise later. Jojen had predicted that Jeyne would excuse herself sometime during the class, but Margaery was both surprised at her own genius and a little in awe of her luck.

Turning away from Sansa, she pulled her phone out of the tight pocket of her tiny gym shorts. _Target is proceeding to trap._

* * *

"—but do you like her?"

Quentyn smirked yet again, but this time it looked a little forced. "Usually I can't stand Margaery, but she's nice to look at."

"Judging from my sister Sansa's favourite movies, your arguing would be considered a sign of sexual tension."

"Your sister has shit taste in movies."

Before Bran could retort and tell Quentyn that Sansa did not have shit taste in movies, only men, his phone hummed with an incoming text.

"Jeyne's coming to her locker."

"She is? Good." Quentyn nodded, satisfied.

"What sort of trap did you set for her anyways?"

"You'll see."

"Jojen," Bran asked over the walkie-talkie. "What sort of trap did Quentyn set?"

Jojen replied instantly. "It involves a lot of glitter."

"And where did Quentyn get all the glitter from?" Bran didn't dare look at Quentyn by this point, not quite ready to fear him in the same way he feared Jojen or even Margaery.

"We've learned it's best not to ask where Quentyn gets his supplies from. Though it was possibly obtained illegally and through and great deal of blackmail that may or may not have involved photos of esteemed individuals in compromising positions."

"How did Quentyn get those photos?"

"I'm not sure." Jojen paused. "You should ask him. By the way, I think the bulletin board above your desk is slightly crooked."

"You mean the bulletin board above the desk in my room?" Bran asked in a hoarse whisper. His fear of Jojen intensified tenfold.

"Yes, that one."

"You've never been to my house."

Silence accompanied Bran's agonized reply. Then, Jojen finally spoke in a rather harried tone. "The target should have already reached the trap. Get ready to carry out the plan. Once the target heads out into the hall after realizing the washroom in here is occupied, Meera will stall her. Then, you go to her locker and retrieve the goods. I will let you know when she is returning."

Bran was about to question Jojen as to how he knew the layout of his room, but a touch on the shoulder from Quentyn—accompanied by a slight glare—silenced him.

It was another minute before the doorknob of their washroom started rattling. A slight swear, and the person trying to get in, stomped off.

"Subject is in the hall." Jojen confirmed. "Do not move yet. Subject has approached Meera. Meera is leading her into the girls' washroom. Okay, I'm blind from here on, but it's safe to go out."

With an amount of stealth that Tyrion Lannister would have approved of, the two boys quickly moved out of the washroom and into the adjourning hallway. Luckily it was empty.

"Her locker is number 1045," Bran said.

Quentyn nodded and pointed to a nearby locker with a standard silver and black lock. He strode over and began twisting it.

"You can pick locks?"

"Yes, but not these kinds of locks. They take too long. I just know her combination."

Once again, Bran found himself in slight awe and fear of his teammates.

"Got it open. Here, put all of the stolen stuff into the bag."

"How do we know what's stolen?"

"Just anything that isn't already in her backpack. Also, I don't think anyone would find good reason to have four cellphones and three wallets. And I highly doubt Jeyne Poole is actually a sophomore named Lommy Greenhands."

"Fair enough."

Jojen's voice crackled over the walkie-talkie. "You have one minute. You should be leaving now."

"Hurry up," Bran insisted.

Quentyn shoved the last of the stolen goods into the bag and did a quick sweep of the locker to make sure he hadn't missed anything. "We're good. Let's get out of here."

Bran nodded and the two boys near-ran down the hall and out of sight.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, he fired off a quick text to his—well now we could call them that—teammates. _Infiltration was a success. Items have been acquired._

He received a smiley face emoticon from Meera.


End file.
